


Wounded Handsome Duck

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Foggy is not impressed, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Matt gets beat up, Matt/Foggy if you squint, The Author Regrets Everything, matt whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Matt decides not to test Foggy's forgiveness by letting him see that he's still getting his ass handed to him on a nightly basis, and Foggy is not impressed when he finds out that Matt's been less careful than he promised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounded Handsome Duck

Foggy still wasn’t quite okay with his alter ego, Matt knew. And he really wasn’t okay with Matt getting himself injured in some way or another every time he donned the mask.

So when they began to rebuild their relationship — when Foggy allowed Matt a probation of sorts — Matt decided it would be best for their progress if Foggy was not aware that Matt was still getting his ass kicked on a daily basis (while still keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe, of course).

Looking back, it was easy to see why this hadn’t been the best idea Matt ever had.

It worked, rather well actually, for a while. Foggy was slowly warming up to “Daredevil,” and Matt made a point to show up to the office on time every morning as chipper and healthy as he could appear to be. It was certainly difficult to hide bruised bones and nasty stab wounds, but Matt managed it. The Murdocks were tough, after all. They always got back up and kept fighting. They never let their opponent see how much they bled.

Things fell apart one night, of course, when Matt (literally) tackled two cronies of Fisk’s who had escaped arrest. The fact that Matt left them both unconscious for the police to find was slightly overshadowed by the more pressing fact that he now sported at least four broken ribs, a badly sprained ankle, and a lot of knife wounds scattered across his upper body. Oh, and a concussion.

Matt laboriously limped and crawled his way back to his apartment, cursing enough that he made a note to mention it in his next confession (though he’d omit the specific words he’d used). By the time he collapsed in front of his couch (he’d intended to sit on it, but it was so high up, and he hadn’t the energy to climb up just yet), he was barely clinging onto consciousness. He managed to call Claire — and groaned when her phone went to voicemail. Three times.

Mustering the last of his energy, Matt hauled himself onto the couch, gritting his teeth at the shooting pain in his ribs, before the world suddenly went black.

* * *

Foggy’s watch read 10:27 AM, and Matt had yet to arrive at the office.

He also had yet to answer a single call from Foggy or Karen.

With a grumble and a muttered word that would have had his mom scrubbing his mouth with soap twenty years ago, Foggy strode out of the office, reassuring Karen in a very un-reassuring tone that Matt was probably fine and had just tripped in the shower or something.

She didn’t sound convinced.

* * *

 

The slam of a door reverberated in the hazy grayness that was Matt’s current stream of thought. Then there were… footsteps. He knew those footsteps. They belonged to—

“What the hell, Matt?”

—Foggy.

Matt tried to sit up, crying out sharply when his ribs protested vehemently. He opened his eyes, tears gathering in the corners at the throbbing pain, and tried to control his breathing so that it wouldn’t hurt even more.

“What happened?” Foggy asked, louder this time. His heartbeat was fast — he was angry. _Very_ angry.

Perhaps Matt hadn’t thought all this through.

“R-Rough night,” he managed, wincing. “Two of Fisk’s men.”

“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t call me when you crawled in here half _dead,_ Matt.”

Oh. That.

Matt wasn’t entirely sure what to say. _“I was afraid you’d get mad at me for getting beat up”_ didn’t sound appropriate.

“You even call your nurse friend?”

Matt nodded, immediately regretting the action. “She was busy.”

“She was busy. So you just laid here, bleeding, and decided to take a nap?”

“I blacked out.”

Foggy snorted. He was pacing back and forth. “Was this before you had a chance to call me?”

Matt knew he couldn’t lie. “You don’t like it when I…”

“When you what? Go out and get yourself hurt? Yeah, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all Matt, because I actually care about you. Now I’m starting to question why.”

“Foggy…”

“I thought- I thought you learned your lesson about keeping secrets, because doing that has always worked out _so well_ for you. So you just had to go do it again. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I didn’t…” Matt swallowed, trying to raise himself up onto one elbow. “I didn’t want you to be angry.”

“Well congratulations, because you failed miserably,” Foggy snapped. “Now lie down.”

“Foggy-“

“Shut up.”

Foggy walked away. Matt grimaced, a pull of anxiety in his gut. Foggy wouldn’t just leave him like this—

Then his friend was returning. Foggy slammed what sounded like the first aid kit onto the table, then knelt down beside the couch. He was still fuming.

“Listen, Foggy-“

“I said _shut up.”_

Matt did as he was told, dutifully not speaking a word as Foggy pulled off all his clothing except his boxers, then methodically cleaned and bandaged every wound he could see. Foggy worked in silence, but his ire was clear. He applied perhaps a little too much pressure when sponging the blood from the gash over Matt’s pelvis, and muttered a very insincere “sorry” when his prodding of Matt’s ribs elicited a pained groan from the injured man.

Matt felt guiltier by the minute.

Foggy stood up as soon as he was finished, and went to the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator. He drank a considerable amount before speaking.

“I don’t want this to happen again.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt mumbled, shifting to relieve a sore shoulder.

“I wish I could believe you,” Foggy replied, sighing. He took a seat in one of the chairs opposite the couch. “But I can’t until you show me.”

Matt nodded. “I understand.”

Foggy didn’t reply. There was a long, slightly uncomfortable silence.

“I get it,” Foggy finally said. “You thought I’d be happier not knowing you were still getting beat up every damn night. Thinking you were actually being more careful. And yeah, you know, it did make me happy. But you know what makes me happier? Having friends who are alive and not six feet under because they won’t ask for help when they need it.”

Matt said nothing. Foggy was right, of course.

“If you cared about me half as much as I do about you, you would’t keep being dishonest, Matt. Do you think it really helps me to know that you spent a night passed out on the couch because you were in too much pain to stay awake?”

“No.”

“You’re damn right, it doesn’t. Because you know what? I really, _really_ care about you, Matt. We’ve been friends since _college._ Or at least, that’s what I used to think.”

Matt’s stomach twisted in guilt. He took a deep breath, willing away the moisture in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I really am.”

“Yeah, you say that now. Were you ever even going to tell me what happened last night?”

Matt opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“That’s what I thought.”

Matt exhaled shakily, his control over his emotions slipping by degrees. He turned his face away from Foggy, screwing his eyes shut agains the wetness that burned in them. He really had meant well, but he’d screwed up. Again. And Foggy was still there to take care of him. Just like always.

It was probably the telltale unevenness in his breathing that gave him away.

Foggy sighed. “It’s all right, Matt. I probably shouldn’t be so hard on you.”

Matt shook his head, sniffling. “N-No, it’s.. it’s my fault. Always is.”

Foggy was silent for a moment before he left the chair to crouch down beside the couch, taking Matt’s left hand in both of his. “I get mad at you for lying about being hurt because I care about you. You know that, right?”

Matt nodded, still looking away. He couldn’t break down in front of Foggy. Not when he was the one who had done wrong to begin with.

“I’m not really angry at you so much as just… frustrated. I need you to be honest with me, Matt. Can you do that?”

Matt nodded again. He wiped a hand across his eyes, sniffling again before he tried to laugh, turning his face back towards Foggy. “Does this mean I have to tell you when you forget deodorant?”

He thought for a moment that his attempt at humor was very poorly timed, but Foggy smiled. “Yes. But I never forget deodorant, buddy. My personal hygiene is impeccable.”

“Is that what Karen told you?”

“That’s what _all_  women tell me.”

They both laughed, the tension easing between them. Foggy gave Matt’s hand a squeeze before he stood up and started rummaging through his bag.

“What are you doing?” Matt asked.

“I brought a book Karen gave me yesterday,” Foggy explained. He retrieved the book and sat down in the same chair as before, flipping through the pages until he found his spot. “Going to need something to do all day.”

“Aren’t you going back to the office?”

“With you looking like you got beat up by all your dad’s boxer friends at once? Not happening, dude.”

Of course Foggy was staying with him.

There was a lump in his throat, and Matt didn’t know what to say. In the end, he settled for a quiet “thank you, Foggy.”

“No problem. Just one question — do you have any better beer? Not gonna lie, this stuff is pretty atrocious." 

 


End file.
